


Bet You Can't Kiss Me (Kiss Me)

by tarantella



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Humanstuck, as close to romance as you'll get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarantella/pseuds/tarantella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Karkat you're not gay!"</p><p>"Thank you for clearing that up, Vriska."</p><p>filled prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mornings she felt like she couldn't even breathe. But this morning she knew anything was possible. Maybe even him falling for her.
> 
> [original prompt](http://awesomewritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/68062463415/writing-prompt-596-the-blank-is-your-mom)

_Of White Russians and Family Feud_

Each and every morning you wake up and feel a knot in your chest, blocking your airways and burning in your lungs. There's a sadness there that you don't dare try to tackle. Instead you leave it be. You sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. A picture sits on the on the edge of the night stand. The knot tightens when your eyes fall on it. Blue and teal girls with their arms around each other, smiling brightly for the lens that captures their souls; beautiful.

Not so beautiful, as of one month ago.

Shaking, you get up and go to the kitchen to pour yourself some cereal. Except you're all out so you have to settle for a stale bagel and the last of your crème cheese. You sit on your bed and turn on the television, flipping through the channels. The disappointment really shouldn't surprise you. There's never anything on. There's never any food in the fridge. There's never anyone to cuddle with. You are all alone in your one room apartment.

Just as she'd want you to be.

You run to the bathroom, slamming your hands on the sink. It rattles and you don't worry that it might break because you're too busy glaring at yourself in the mirror. One month has passed since Terezi broke it off with you. Honestly, you should be over it by now. Who cares if you were close? Best friends. Sisters, even. And it's not as though you can blame her anyway. It's not exactly like you were completely innocent. You were completely guilty in your trials. Mostly you are angry with yourself for driving her away.

Sneering at the reflection you return to the rest of the apartment and search the clothes that litter the floor for a pair of pants. You need to get out. You need a drink. Anything is possible today.

Where can you go at three in the afternoon?

At three in the afternoon you can go to a café, two book stores, and three different bars. Of course you're already scraping for money for the cable bill so you only buy a croissant at the café before they kick you out, gaze at the bookshelves before buying a paperback in the fifty cents bin about pirates and adventure, and buying a beer at each bar until you grow tired of the din and smell of wasted, unclean bodies.

It's not until you're sitting on a rickety stool at the third bar that anything interesting happens.

It starts with a door that creaks when it opens. Then footsteps that stomp in alongside the chill draft. A stool that scrapes along the floor. And a voice that says, “White Russian. And change the channel to 36, if you would.”

Game show music blares tinny from the speakers.

You look up. The newest episode of Family Feud is on.

You look to your right.

Wow.

He's beautiful. Handsome. Alabaster skin, dark locks, a jawline of the gods. You can't believe that he's sitting merely two stools away from you. You have to say something to him. When else are you going to get a chance like this?

“So. Family Feud.”

Shit.

Oh no, he's looking at you.

Oh, fuck, his eyes are so dark. Enveloping.

Now he's grinning. Not even a grin, it's more of just a lifting of the corner of his mouth. But it's hot as hell. Fuck, now he looks like he's going to say something. His mouth is opening- look at those perfect lips. You could kiss them right now if he weren't about to speak.

“Yeah. You watch?”

And it's like the angels singing. Well, more like a dorky little boy talking. But still. You can tell it's the beginning of something beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they totally head back to vriska's place and do it


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's asking her out. On a date. A _date._
> 
> [prompt](http://awesomewritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/66370671666/writing-prompt-579-person-place-thing)

  
_Of Porcelain and Turntables_   


They say the day after is always weird. Well, they are right. You're sitting at your kitchen table browsing the internet for any information on the girl from yesterday. Or at least trying to. Laptops from 2005 don't exactly work like they used to; you write yourself a mental note to bother Captor later. Not like looking her up will help you know her anyway. After chatting about the game show that you both love for a while and not-quite-drunk yelling at the television, she tugged on your arm, leading you out of the shitty bar before the rough crowd rolled in. She led you to a restaurant where you paid for her dinner. You led her around downtown where she gazed in amazement at the evening lights. And then she brought you back to her place.

Regardless, she'd barely whispered her name before kicking you out that morning. Vriska. You roll it around your tongue, let it sit on your lips, breath it into the air. Beautiful. Just like her.

Grunting in frustration as your laptop flashes the blue screen for the sixth time that evening, you slam it shut and stand up. There's no point in trying any more. You have to get ready. It's a surprise really. She doesn't know that you're going to walk all the way to her apartment, knock on her door, and ask her if she'd like to... you swallow hard. Even thinking about what you're going to ask her is difficult.

The microwave clock informs you that it's nearing six thirty and that you should move your legs before they decompose. Rushing into your bedroom you search your closet thoroughly, throwing unacceptable things on the floor. Half of your wardrobe is on the ground before you settle on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. To be honest you don't own much else.

Now the clock tells you that you've wasted fifteen minutes searching for the perfect outfit. Snorting at yourself, you hurry into the bathroom and groom yourself to perfection – or as close to perfection as you're going to get. God, you feel like such a girl.

Slipping into your leather jacket you take off for her place.

 

Well you certainly haven't experienced butterflies until the moment that you're standing outside of her apartment, hand raised to knock. What if she doesn't want to go with you? If she only wanted it to be a one night stand? Holy shit, what if she wasn't even home? There were so many alternate possibilities to her saying yes that sweat beads on your forehead.

Come on, you chide yourself. You just need to do it. Just raise your hand. Knock on the door. Look her in the eye and-

Oh, for fuck's sake. Just do it.

And before you realise what you're doing, your hand is knocking on the door and noises are coming from inside.

Fuck. Shit. Oh, god. She's going to think you're so stupid. You look like an idiot. What are you even doing here? Oh, god she's-

The door creaks open, revealing oceanic blue eyes in a porcelain face framed with dark curls. Your heart skips a beat. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Vriska.

“Karkat?” her voice doesn't sound surprised like you thought it would. She sounds excited.

You realise you're staring. Hurry up and answer her, you dimwit. Clearing your throat you say, “Yeah! I, uh, hi. Vriska.” Oh fuck, you're making a goddammed fool of yourself. 

How is she going to say yes now?

But instead of slamming the door in your face, Vriska giggles. _Giggles._ And it sounds like like cotton candy on a lazy June day. You wish you could capture those sound waves in a jar and set them beside your bed so they are the first and last thing you hear each and every day.

Smiling in spite of yourself, you let out a chuckle. “I was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere with me?” You don't mean for it to sound so much like a question but you're past the point of caring. Every fibre in your being just wants her to say yes.

Blue eyes smile. “Depends. Where are you planning on taking me?”

“Surprise.”

“... One second.”

Her frame disappears from the doorway and you're left staring at the empty space in shock. She said yes. Vriska actually accepted your invitation.

When she returns you give her one the biggest smiles that has ever graced your face. Her delicate hand gestures for you to lead. And you do. And you're glad that she doesn't mind walking because you don't have the money for a car or a cab.

The sun has dipped behind the horizon and the stars shine weakly down on the earth when you arrive at the surprise. Walking in through the door, you pray to every god that she'll like it here.

Neon lights from the ceiling and walls reflect in Vriska's eyes, but it's not just them that's making her glow. She bounces up and down on her toes, hands clasped at her waist. 

A grin lights up her face when she turns to you. “I didn't peg you to be a club boy,” she teases. You grin back. “Well I pegged you to be a club girl.” Her laughter is even sweeter than her giggling.

Pulling on your sleeve, she leads you into the thick of the crowd. Lights point on you from every direction. Music assaults your ears but you don't mind. Vriska is enjoying herself. You're enjoying yourself.

The two of you dance. Wild and crazy. Like no one is watching. Or at least she does. And you comply when she urges you to join her. But you prefer watching her body twist and turn and swing to the beats, watching her eyes close as she just moves. She looks so natural that you never want to take your eyes off of her.

But you have to when static emits from the speakers and shouting sounds from the DJ's booth.

Some guy- clearly drunk- has climbed onto the platform and is hanging all over a lanky boy with blonde hair who is trying to push him off. His efforts aren't going well, seeing as the guy has pushed the DJ back onto the turntables and is slamming his hands all over buttons.

You look at Vriska, sorry that you have to cut the dance short. A nod is all she gives you. She knows what you have to do. Well, what you want to do.

Pushing people who are just staring at the scene out of the way, you jump up onto the platform and rush to the DJ's aid, prying the drunk guy off of him. That's when the bouncers reach you, nodding to you and grabbing the drunk guy's arms, hauling him off.

“Thanks man,” the DJ raises his fist. You'd look him in the eyes but his sunglasses are blocking the view, making him look arrogant and you kind of want to punch him. Instead you fist bump him and climb back down to the dance floor where everybody's already returned to grinding on each other.

Vriska finds you. A smile is on her face but she looks tired. “You did good,” she mouths. Smiling back you nod. Right now it's too bright and too loud and suddenly you're sweating bullets. You motion toward the door and she leads you to it.

Outside in the fresh air you take a few moments to breathe. “I'm starved,” she brushes hair out of her face and looks at you. You wipe your brow and look at her. “Me too,”

And so you two end up sitting at a run-down Taco Bell at midnight, stuffing yourselves full because neither of you cares how the other eats. At the beginning you laugh about what happened at the club, but mostly you dine in companionable silence, which is something that you never experienced with any of your past girlfriends. When you're finished eating you leave the shitty establishment and head back to her place again.

You think about holding her hand, but you don't.

Other opportunities will come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pink panties, chicken bones, several bottles of booze, a fake I.D., a bunch of matches.

_Of Ripped Jeans and 3D Glasses_

Cold air whistles through your hair and your hands but you're still sweating. You wipe your palms off on your ripped jeans and start wringing them again. Beside you is the boy you've known for so little time, but you like him. Anyway, he has friends here too, so it's not like you wouldn't see him anyway.

“Hey. Chill,” Karkat brushes your hair behind your ear. Turning to glare at him, you knock his hand away. Immediately you regret it when his eyebrows lower and his bottom lip juts out in offence. Sighing, you drop your hands to your sides. “Look, this is the first time in a month that I've even been in the same building as...” you swallow hard. “As Terezi. And I'm just-”

Hands are on your arms. “Hey.” he waits until you look up at him. “Chill,”

You smile.

Karkat leads the way up to house. Music blares from the open windows, the bass rattling the frames. He opens the door and gestures you in. For all of the nervousness you displayed outside, you sure walk confidently inside. Pushing your way through the slick bodies and making a beeline for the drinks. Following you is Karkat, although when he gets to the table he strikes up an animated conversation with some guy wearing what look like 3D glasses with a red and blue lens. So much for support.

Oh well. It's not like you haven't had to deal with things on your own before.

Leaving the boys with the booze you venture out into the party. Honestly you can't believe that you even came here, let alone that she invited you at all. Your falling out wasn't exactly the prettiest. Could it be that she wanted to reconcile what was left?

Barely ten minutes passes before Karkat finds you leaning against a china cabinet, twisting a cup in your hands. Those adorable eyebrows of his are knitted together again but this time you're a little too pissed to want to smooth them back into place.

“I've been looking for you,” it's not worried or questioning. It's just a statement. And the fact that he's not trying to pry causes you to falter in your anger. You mutter a “Sorry,” and he gives you one of those not smiles, where just the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Vriska?”

Fuck.

You turn around to the grinning face of the teal girl from the photograph you cherish so much. Briefly you wonder how she recognised you before you notice the hand she's holding belongs to a lanky blonde boy with sunglasses. The DJ from that night at the club. She must've told him too keep an eye out for you. He tilts his head in your direction, which you interpret to be his way of saying hello. But he gives Karkat a real hello. You don't mind- after all, he did help the DJ out.

It's been too long since she spoke and you have to spit something out quick. “Hey, Terezi. Long time no see,”

When Terezi laughs it's a quick and short one, unlike the long giggles she used to share. “Can't see, remember?” You chuckle meekly. This is eight times more awkward than you imagined it.

Tapping her cane twice on the floor, the girl swishes her short hair like an idea just popped into her head. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do something with me!” she exclaims, then adds as an afterthought, “And Dave.” So that's the DJ's name. Typical.

“What did you have in mind?” you start to wring your hands again. It's okay because she can't see you.

Thin eyebrows wiggle while a teal mouth quirks to one side. “A seance,” she whispers in her best spooky voice.

Your stomach drops to your shoes. Your heart leaps to your throat. So this is what she wanted.

“Come on,” she croons. The grinning and laughing is no longer that of a friend. It is that of a one in the act of revenge. Well, fine. You can play this game too.  


You square your shoulders and look her in the eyes. “Fine. Lead the way,”

“Fine,” her grin is malicious. She yanks Dave over and starts down a hallway you hadn't noticed before. Karkat gives you a puzzled look but you just pull on his sleeve and follow Terezi.

You wind up in an empty room. Or at least that's how you perceive it at first. Suddenly light springs from purple candles placed around the room, setting the place with an eerie glow. Instinctively, you scoot closer to the door, hand dropped to your waist for a weapon that isn't there. Terezi knows exactly how you'll react; she's grinning like mad by the far wall. Standing next to a shadow that you didn't notice at first.

Pale hands remove an orange hood to reveal a girl of your age. “Welcome.”

Well, shit. Terezi sure went all out for this dumb little séance of hers.

The orange lady gestures you to sit, and you do so in a circle. That's how seances work, right? At least from what you've seen on cable, anyway.

She asks for the usual: everyone to hold hands, to abide by her rules, a belonging to the deceased. You try to brace yourself but your heart still crumples a bit when his fake ID is passed in front of you. You can't help but stare at his photo, his bashful smile and hopeful eyes. Back when you weren't legal you helped him make it. You never figured out why he always carried it around with him, even when you became of the legal age.

“A belonging of the deceased,” Setting the ID in front of her, the orange girl throws down a shit ton of matches. “A belonging of the ritual,” Then she asks for something from the parties present at the boy's death and your breath catches. You didn't save anything from that night. There's no way to continue on with this nonsense.

But when you look at Terezi she's smiling. Of course. She presents several bottles of booze. You lower your eyes slightly. Remnants from that night. It had been your fault. Those bottles were yours. You're the one who convinced him to let loose a little a have a more than a few drinks. She also unabashedly presents what you recognise as her pink panties. You notice Dave perk up and the orange girl wrinkle her nose a bit.

Karkat's hand tightens around yours and for the first time since you've sat down, you realise he's there. Looking over at him, you see the question in his eyes, on his lips. For an eighth of a moment you think about telling him everything. But you can't. So you purse your lips and shake your head and turn you eyes back to the orange girl.

With everything in place, the girl tells you all to focus on the image of the deceased so that he may appear easier to their eyes. You can't believe you're going along with this load of bullshit. But some part of you makes you sit down, stay. Look and listen and maybe pay for your mistakes.

You sit in silence for a minute or two, nearly holding your breath from anticipation. You're just about to ask a question when the lights, as suddenly as they flickered to life, blow out. All at once. The wind outside picks up, rattling the one window in it's pane. The temperature has definitely dropped and you might be imagining it but you think you feel a hand brush against your shoulder.

Karkat's hand receives the death grip as the wind increases and the temperature continues to drop. You think you might even squeeze Dave's hand a little. But the apprehension is building in your gut and you honestly stopped caring.

The orange lady is sitting there mumbling some shit beneath her breath and this is really starting to creep you the fuck out. Air brushes your hair back across your shoulder and you shiver. Could it be? Could he really be back? Oh God. What are you going to do? What are you going to say? Will he be angry? Of course he'll be angry, you reprimand yourself. Just look at what you fucking did to him.

And that's when you hear it. One sentence.

_I couldn't fly, Vriska._

 

“Vriska!”

You hear Karkat calling your name but you don't dare answer. The grass pricks at the skin bared through the rips in your pants and the wind scratches at your arms and sides but you don't dare move. A chill is seeping into your knees and palms but you don't dare get up. You don't dare do anything.

When Karkat finally arrives he finds you on hands and knees, hunched over like you're retching your guts onto the lawn. Which you should be. But you can't. You can't move. You can't breathe. All you can do is think.

You see him kneel beside you, feel his hand on your back. When he speaks the worry in his voice is clear. “Vriska,”

But you can't do anything about it. You can only stay as you are and try not to sob.

And you stay there. For hours. Long after the party has ended. Long after the moon passes the middle of the sky. But you stay there. Karkat stays there. Never moving. Never saying anything. Just existing.

Until finally your arms give out and you fall back onto your ass like some toddler. Karkat is there still, his hand on your back still, eyes on you still. When you finally find the courage to look into his eyes you find nothing but kindness and acceptance. And that's when you realise that he doesn't care what you've done. It doesn't matter to him that you've made the collective mistakes of eight people's lives in eight months.

But it matters to you.

So when he's picking you up and cradling you close to his chest, you lean as close to his ear as possible and give him the best explanation you can.

“He didn't believe,”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day shenanigans.
> 
>  
> 
> [prompt](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/59596370035/imagine-your-otp-having-dinner-together-whether)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines day clem <3

_Of Expensive Noodles and Cerulean Lips_

When you asked her to dinner, your palms weren't sweaty and your heart didn't beat in your throat. You stood at her door and you handed her a bouquet of morning glories and smiled your most well mannered smile and told her, “Happy Valentine's Day, Vriska.” And once she'd finished occupying your mouth, you asked her out to this fancy restaurant.

So here you are, sitting at a tiny table with an expensive table cloth, eating expensive pasta and drinking expensive wine. And here you are, watching Vriska interrupt her talking with forkfuls of spaghetti. And here you are, listening to her words and watching her mouth. They way she pops her letters, how she really tastes the words with her teeth before she breathes them into the air, slipping past her cerulean lips. And here you are, thinking about how she mesmerizes you.

Thinking about what those blue lips will look like when they're old with wrinkles framing them.

You inhale a noodle in surprise, slamming your fork down and coughing. Whoa. What the fuck.

“You okay?” Vriska laughs. And oh, fuck, how you adore that laugh. You cough once more before taking a drink. “Yeah. Guess my poor body can't handle rich food.” you smile. That was lame as fuck, but she giggles and continues with what she was saying before.

However, you are distracted by the thought that caused your incident in the first place. Were you _really_ thinking about what Vriska would look like as an old lady? You twirl some noodles on your fork and nod at her, trying to pay attention to what she's saying.

Wait.

Does that mean...

No way.

You take a sip of your wine. And keep drinking.

Suddenly all you can think about is spending the rest of your life with her.

You'd ask her if she wanted to move in together, and she'd think about it for a few weeks. At first she'd be dead set on “no.” But then she'd grow closer and closer to “yes” until she'd answer the door one day and shove a key to her apartment at you. And when you'd ask her about it later, she'd smile and say that she realized that she wanted to wake up and see your dumb face every morning.

You'd live together for a long while, learning everything about each other. What foods you eat when you're sad, where you like to sleep when your stomach aches, what letters you slur when you're tired and the pitch of your drunken giggles. Jobs would come and go, and you'd buy ice cream for each other when disappointments occurred. Each night you'd sit down to watch Family Feud and try and play it better than the people on the show. You'd grow closer as lovers. You'd become best friends, and fall deeper in love.

You'd buy her something gold, with stones the color of her eyes and have it be as intricate as she is. It'd sit in the satin of a little velvet box, burning a hole in your pocket as you took her to the huge fountain downtown – the one next to the bridge, overlooking the harbor – the one you knew she loved. And as she'd sit on the edge of that fountain, wind blowing her hair in wisps about her face, you'd get down on one knee, and ask her to marry you.

And underneath the stars she'd whisper “yes.”

There would be second thoughts and bad fights. She'd throw the vase you bought her at your head and you'd slam the door in her face. Nasty words would be exchanged, both of you meaning them at the time you said it, but both of you regretting them afterward. And despite all of the bad, there would be so much more good. And after every fight you'd make up and cuddle in bed. And once it came, your wedding would be just how she wanted it to be. Perfect.

And no matter how cheesy it sounds, you can't help but think it.

You'd spend the rest of your lives happily ever after.

“Karkat?”

Startled, you look up at Vriska. Her eyebrows are drawn together and the corners of her mouth are tugged into a frown. “Are you okay?”

You realize that you've been staring at you plate without moving for the past ten minutes. Heat rising to your cheeks, you stammer out an apology and pour her more wine. The blue of her eyes softens but you know you'll still have to make it up to her.

The rest of the dinner consists of you focusing on Vriska's every word, paying the utmost attention to her. When you both are full to the brim and tipsy enough that nearly every sentence ends in a giggle, you pay your bill with the money you've been saving up for three months and leave. It's a little walk back to her place, but it's a lot shorter than if you were to walk back to yours. And driving is not an option at all.

Later that night, after you've collapsed into her bed and are clinging to the last tendrils of consciousness, Vriska asks what you were thinking about during dinner. With a tremendous effort you roll onto your opposite side and wrap an arm around her. Trying not to drool, you kiss her nose and close your eyes.

“The future,” you whisper.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things might be shitty, but at least Denny's will always be here for you.

_Of Depression and Triweekly Rituals_

“What’s the point?” you groan from your face down position on the couch. It isn’t soft at all and it smells funny but the point is that you don’t feel like doing anything.

Your lover, however, feels differently.

“Vriska,” he stands next to you. “You have been lying there for six hours. The TV isn’t even on. How are you not bored out of your mind?”

“I’ve been communing with the building ghosts.”

Karkat lets out an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Vris, we both know they only hang around at night.”

You concede on the point and burrow deeper into the worn fabric.

“This won’t get any better if you just lay here in a puddle of misery.”

He’s right. You know he is. But you just can’t gather the energy to move your face to the side. There’s a strong chance that you’ve been breathing in your own carbon dioxide for six hours.

“And we both know that you can only breathe oxygen.”

Damn.

Karkat sighs again and sits next to you on the floor. Soft hair brushes against your arm. The TV clicks on. Family Feud. You wish you had the energy to smile.

 

Three hours later and you finally muster the energy to get up. Slowly you struggle to your hands and knees, wobbling as your appendages feel like they’re being pricked by thousands of pins.

It’s dark; almost no different from when you were long-term face planting into the furniture. The only light comes from the infomercials on TV and the faint yellow glow from the streetlamp filtering through the broken blinds.

Something about the lack of light excites you. The shadows, the night sounds, and the anonymity of the dark- it fills you with certain energy. You aren’t going to run a marathon anytime soon, but you aren’t going to be immovable for another nine hours. You feel alert, aware. There’s a specific attentiveness by your senses that makes you feel alive.

“Karkat,” you whisper, searching for him. Something stirs beside you and you sit back, wondering if the ghosts are up for a game tonight. Instead your boyfriend sits up with a yawn, hands rubbing furiously at his eyes. His hair sticks up on half of his head like he slept on the floor. You wrongly assumed that he had left you and gone to bed.

Watery eyes turn toward you as you suppress a smile. “Are you up?” he mumbles. You shake your head and he takes a moment to blink several times. “Okay,”

You snort. What an incredibly romantic buffoon.

Climbing out of the dip in the couch, you stand tall and stretch. It feels good to move your muscles. You’re glad that you finally got up even if it was hours after Karkat wanted you to. He’s still sitting on the floor staring at the place you had just been.

Checking the clock in the kitchen, you realize why. Two in the morning isn’t exactly the most amazing time for anyone to be awake, let alone those who have just gotten three hours of sleep. You shrug off the brief feelings of guilt because you really have to pee and life is too short to worry about things you did on a bad day.

One pee and hand washing later and you’re back in the living room to wake Karkat up fully. His yelp of shock as you poke his nose with your toe makes you laugh so hard you lose your balance and tumble to the ground with a muted thump. Karkat isn’t as jolly about it.

“What the hell?” his voice pitches higher, causing you to burst into another fit of laughter. This breaks through to him and his face softens. He smiles. “Glad to see you finally up and moving.”

You smile back. “I figured it was finally time for me to get my ass in gear.”

He raises an eyebrow.

Jumping to your feet, you fix your shirt and offer him a hand. “Nah, a little ghostie told me Denny’s is serving a free meal to anyone who shows up looking like they just woke up. And by ghostie I mean no one. And by free I mean let’s go.”

 

The employees raise an eyebrow as you bounce into the restaurant, Karkat trudging at your side. They see you often enough to know that your arrivals are always like this: 2am, excited and sleepy, dressed like you just rolled out of bed. You smile even wider than you already are. This is just how you like it.

The working waitress spots you and grabs two menus. “Right this way,” she says, mostly out of habit more than anything. You always sit at the same exact table and despite the fact that you’ll spend fifteen minutes poring over the menu you will both order the same exact thing that you do each and every time you visit.

As you seat yourselves the waitress leaves to get your fresh cup of coffee and Karkat’s chocolate milk. Neither of you have been embarrassed of your orders nor will you ever be no matter how many strange looks the staff gives you, you just continue dining.

Karkat is still half asleep. He yawns wide, catching your smile when he opens your eyes. “What?” he grumbles, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

You bat your eyelashes and smile bigger, drawing out the vowels when you say, “Nothing,”

“Mhm, and the Statue of Liberty is purple.”

This elicits a giggle from you and it’s your turn to cover your mouth with your hand. Karkat smirks.

“Here you are,” the waitress interrupts, setting your drinks down and pulling out her notepad. “Are y’all ready to order or should I give you a few minutes?”

You pick up the menu and begin to scour it. “A few minutes, if you would,” you say.

As she walks back toward the kitchen, Karkat picks up his menu. “She’s just going back there to pick up our food you know.” He states.

You think about how they must be joking about you two back there, talking about how silly it is that you keep up this triweekly routine. Coffee and chocolate milk; a T-Bone steak with a side of eggs and toast and three chocolate chip pancakes with a smiley face made out of fruit on top, accompanied by a full plate of hash browns and warm blueberry syrup; two vanilla milkshakes.

Looking up, you watch Karkat attentively read the menu.

It is silly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i write in word so i swear it doesn't look so little and spaced out there. i don't realize how it looks until i copy+paste it over here so lmao. you'd think i'd have learned by now
> 
> also, i'm gonna try to be back for longer periods of time. actually i'm gonna try to be back permanently but we all know how things go... anyway, i think i'll probably wrap this up in a few chapters or so. keeping this going for so long (what, about a year now? even though i wasn't working on it for this whole time) has really run me down. i don't think i'll be doing future works nearly as loose and "update me whenever" as this one was.
> 
> thank yall for reading though. i really appreciate it, especially those of you who have taken the time to stay with it. yall are great. <3


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